From Me to You, via the Null Void
by Chyme for the Rhyme
Summary: Long distance relationships are hard. Hell, growing up is hard, especially when the romance you had as teenagers is still flourishing between you. But years into the future, when Rook takes charge of the Rooters and goes to live in the Null Void for months at a time, they still make a go of it.


**Notes:** Apologies for the really long author's note. It's rare that I feel the need to stick one at the top, but meh.

Honestly, this is really an experiment to try and write Rook and Ben as slightly older than where canon leaves them and resolve or identify some of the inevitable growing-up-and-slightly-apart issues that can occur during that fragile transitional stage between being a teenage and an adult.

I mainly have issues with this fic, because...well this is a sort of one-shot. But during and after writing it up I started work on another piece that I also thought would be a stand-alone but there were moments when as I was writing it I thought to myself, 'this is kinda a follow-up, isn't it? Yep, definitely a follow-up.' Having said that, you don't need to have read either of these two pieces in order to understand the other, although the sorta-but-not-actually-a-sequel piece does make a throw-away reference to an event that takes place in this fic.

The reason I'm mainly putting this out here is because this work is explicit and it feels a lot more gratuitous and heavy than my other stuff. Rook definitely pulls something later on that I would not recommend trying in real life. I mean, that's not all that happens in here but well, sex and thinking about it seems to be a cornerstone of quite a few romances. Not all of them! But I don't really see these guys as asexual sooo...

Anyway, it feels wrong to bundle both pieces into a chaptered work. It also wouldn't work because this fic is written in the present tense and the other is written in the past.

Here endeth the warning.

* * *

'Soo...' Ben shuffles his feet and steps forward, an awkward grin on his face.

And just like that, like magnets, Rook's eyes are drawn to that smile and all that surrounds it. For it has always been this way for as long as the Revonnahgander can remember, his attention glued to the man in front of him, even as the years help lengthen the lines of that face into something that's a little more difficult to fit between the soft glide of his palms. Difficult, but not impossible.

' _So_ ,' he repeats in a slightly teasing tone as his hands reach up to do just that, Ben's skin fitting beneath the slot of his cupped hands in a way that's both rough and familiar - for beneath his fur he can feel rough bristles, all those tiny mistakes where his partner has been in too much of a hurry to correct with his razor in the early morning rush. It makes him smile and shake his head in abrupt fondness. 'Very articulate of you, Ben. Just what I wanted to hear on my departure from home.'

Ben scowls and pulls away. 'Well, I'm sorry real life doesn't mimic the movies, okay? What? Did you expect a scripted goodbye?'

'No, I expected something much more heart-felt. But if you cannot bring yourself to do even that-'

Ben lets out a frustrated noise and cuts Rook off by placing both of his hands on the side of Rook's face, yanking him down firmly enough for his mouth to reach up and join the line of Rook's own. Rook melts instantly; he's never been any good at holding fast against affectionate gestures and Ben's spontaneous kisses have always been a welcome surprise. They're also not as clumsy and uncoordinated as others might expect, given how often the human falls over or misses a target when he lets his focus drift - or at least they aren't anymore, though that is mainly thanks to years of practise.

Ben keeps the kiss reasonably chaste, leaving a few teasing nips on the inner line of Rook's lip, and lathering that small strip of skin with his tongue as it escapes the barrier of fur and falls away into the inside of Rook's mouth. Rook, for his part, tilts his head, mostly to ease Ben's passage, feeling that familiar tweak of guilt as he does so. Truthfully, it has always bothered him that Ben has never felt quite as free to explore the outside of his mouth the way he might do with another human, especially since Ben has always made his distaste for fur on his tongue well-known. No, he much prefers to use his fingers when such a need arises.

In fact, those sly things are at work right now, smoothing out the crested waves of his growing beard with ruthless little tugs, hard enough to draw attention to the sensation. And yet they remain tender enough to cajole Rook to lean down further, right into those soft pulls of motion. The Revonnahgander doesn't whine or moan, not exactly, being a little too aware of the fact they are in public to give in entirely, but he does growl slightly. For his species, any touch near the chin is better than a massage. It is even, in some circumstances, and when the right mood strikes, better than kissing.

...Which is probably why Ben is doing it. Even _he_ is not selfish enough to embark on a deep-frenching, tongue-colliding kiss in the middle of the Plumber base.

Rook scowls inwardly at the thought that he is probably drawing more pleasure from this moment than Ben, who has no doubt planned it that way, when his human partner draws back, satisfaction present in every line of his smirk.

'There! That's a movie-worthy moment, surely? Romantic goodbyes always have a kiss mixed up in there somewhere.'

'Very smooth of you,' Rook acknowledges, drawing back into his full height without having to hear that pesky clink in his neck that would have been present just a few short years ago. He's still taller, but he misses it sometimes, that ease of pushing Ben into his shadow with just a single step of movement. On the upside, the kisses are indeed a lot firmer now that Ben no longer has to dangle from Rook's mouth on his tip-toes.

'I'm the smoothest,' Ben agrees proudly, wrapping his arms around Rook's neck, and the Revonnahgander smiles to hear a slight rustle from the cargo pants below. For though Ben no longer has to launch himself up onto his toes to complete a shoulder-hug, he still has to strain to achieve it, nonetheless.

'Let us not go overboard. There are still ninety seconds before they fire up the portal into the Null Void; plenty of time for you to place your foot firmly into your mouth.'

Ben frowns. 'You know, for someone who used to tell me constantly how weird Earth expressions are, you sure use a lot of them nowadays.'

Rook gives him a cheeky grin. 'When in Rome,' he says and laughs to hear Ben groan in response. 'But even when I am not there, I will still miss you,' he continues in a much softer and more heart-felt tone as he carefully wraps his arms around the waist in front of him.

But it works, for Ben seems to relax into this movement with a sigh, and Rook takes a moment to bask in that simple sound before someone clears their throat. Someone at knee-level, which makes Ben instantly stiffen, so Rook sighs and pulls away, glancing down at the Plumber responsible.

'We're ready, sir.'

'Thank you,' he says calmly, and then swoops down to pick up his canvas bag. Something in the air must get to him though, because he ends up thrusting the strap across his shoulder with the sort of militaristic fervour he hasn't felt since he was a new recruit - but it serves the unintended purpose of making Ben laugh slightly, so Rook still counts it as a win.

'A-at ease,' Ben stumbles to say, almost choking as Rook looks at him and then, completely straight-faced, fires off a quick salute in his direction.

' _Sir_ ,' says the Plumber at his knee, a slightly incredulous air to his voice. Which unfortunately, does not surprise Rook. All of the Plumbers here know Ben after all, and the idea of giving a salute to someone who thinks it's funny to change the screensaver of the main computer they use for monitor duty to Argit taking a bubble bath, complete with frilly pink shower cap and a rubber duck...well, it must make the more serious cadets rage on the inside.

Rook feels second-hand embarrassment creep its way in at the memory, but manages a small smile at Ben nonetheless, before he turns on his heel. And then he walks straight into the whirling blend of purple and brown that mars the air in front of him, never breaking his stride, even as the world blurs and the tiles beneath his feet rip into green streaks like quickly-passing light. In a few moments more he will be inside the Null Void; his new home for the next few months and hopefully, another stepping stone in the ladder of his career.

'Show those Rooters, who's boss!' Ben calls after him before his voice distorts and fades, and Rook allows himself another small smile as he steps out into the unknown.

* * *

Thankfully the Rooters are very different people than the ones he met the last time he encountered them. Quite literally. There are five in total, four of which have been hand-picked by the Magistrata herself, and the only one of the originals, Agent Swift, greets him with cool, analytical eyes and a slightly sardonic twitch of her tail. But she doesn't do anything else to demean his authority, so he's willing to give her a chance...as long as she doesn't show any of her old sadism in his presence. Truthfully, he's not sure what she's said or done to earn this second chance, and while he's not entirely at ease working alongside someone who once believed (and maybe still does) that Ben is the greatest threat to the known universe and deserves death as a result, he is still a Plumber. And that means staying professional.

So he greets her with a cool tilt of his head and is thankful when she doesn't blast any energy beams into his face in return.

'Oookay,' drawls a nearby Citrakayah with such an unimpressed look on his face that he feels a pang in his gut at how alike it is to Ben's. 'So, why are you in charge again, fuzzy?'

'Because I have more experience than all of you combined and have helped saved the universe at least once,' Rook replies matter-of-factly. 'Which I imagine is more than anyone else here has managed.'

Agent Swift looks very much like she wants to say something at this point, but quickly swallows it down. He just hopes it is nothing along the lines of 'I would have managed the same if you had let us murder Ben the first time round.'

'Also,' Rook continues on, hurriedly, upon seeing the Citrakayah open his mouth once again, 'I have dealt with Ben Tennyson for six years. And that is...a somewhat challenging feat. He has taught me to expect the unexpected, a survival mechanism that will aid us well in this rather hostile environment we will have to make our base of operations.'

'Dealt?' asks a female Conductoid, with a raised eyebrow. 'Aren't you his lover? Is 'dealt' some kind of tactful euphuism?'

Everyone starts sniggering. Except Swift who now wears a look of thunder. Strangely enough, that almost makes Rook like her. Almost.

Steady on Blonko, he thinks and then clears his throat. 'Have any of you been surprised in the shower by a Nanowatt attempting to give you a 'funny' beard and 'wild' look by running static electricity through your wet fur? And have any of you had a bunch of Sonorosians shouting a chorus of 'Happy Birthday' outside your window with the resulting sonic wave disrupting every alarm in your house, including the one in your Plumber's badge? No? Because I have had to deal with such antics for _years_.'

There is a general shuffling of feet after this announcement. And then the Citrakayah throws back his head and laughs.

'You,' he says, pointing a slender blue finger at Rook. 'I like you. Unlike my last boss, you actually have a sense of humour.'

Rook declines to tell him that is being perfectly serious about everything he just said. People have a hard time believing Ben isn't infallible before they meet him, after all.

* * *

When Rook eventually manages to allocate jobs for everyone in the old Rooter base the Magistrata has quietly blipped back into existence for them, he finds himself a nice room that looks as if it has none of Phil's old Baywatch posters hanging from it's walls and settles down to unpack. He also feels slightly thankful that Ben has, this time, decided not to meddle with any of the items he has meticulously arranged inside the various pockets and sleeves of his bag. He's just managed to rummage around long enough to identify the feel of his toiletry bag under his fingers, when an envelope slides down against his hand. He frowns and pulls it out, confusion weighing down on his brow as he reads the words Ben has scrawled along the back instead of an address.

 _For those long, cold, lonely nights, with just your hand for company._

He already has a sinking feeling as he yanks the flap open with his thumb and then...

'Oh no,' he says with a sigh, as with a soft, papery tumble, a fistful of photos fall into his waiting palm. All of them are crisp, colourful and amateurishly shot and all feature Ben in the nude.

* * *

Rook isn't stupid. He's had access to the Xtranet before he even knew of Earth's internet. The concept of sending your lover 'nudes' has been around centuries before humans even discovered photography as an art-form and while it may not be a custom on Revonnah, there is still a tradition passed down by adult mutterings alone. It involves being quiet and careful and immodest, tucking yourself away from the heat of the day inside a craftsman's hut and letting him or her carve out a likeness of your nakedness into the hollowed-out form of an Amber Ogia fruit, before offering it up as a gift to your betrothed hours later, within the dark.

It is something Rook has only seen once or twice, mere flashes of a shape inside the coconut-like base of an old, dried shell rolled under his parents' bed; he had come across it while he was young, still small enough to creep under the cracks and crevices their furniture at home opened up. And he remembers staring, wide-eyed and appalled at the chipped cuts depicting what he now supposes to be his mother in her youth, her limbs and hair falling away inside the dark orange curves they were attached to like the eroded forms of earth rocks against the beach. He remembers the touch of it, hard like bark, the fleshy casing worked over with a resin made from other luckless fruit to help make the sculpture last; and Rook supposes it to serve the same protective function as the heart-shaped lockets some humans seem so fond of, the ones with photos enclosed on their insides.

And yet, for all the sentimentality involved, Rook has never felt the need to dabble in such a tradition and has firmly instructed his siblings to never let so much as a hint of it slip through to Ben's ears. He has many embarrassing stories to share about them if they do so, after all, but then such is the privilege of being old enough to have watched them grow up from their various gurgling baby stages.

However, it now seems that despite his wishes, he has a few mementos of his own. He stares at the nearest photo, one of Ben sprawled across the mattress of their bed in a way he probably thinks makes him look sexy, but in reality just makes him look as though he is floundering in a sea of white creases. Then he sighs. It doesn't help that despite Ben's awkwardness and his inability to soften the stiffness of his limbs, to spread himself out in a way that looks more natural and therefore more provocative, that Rook finds him beautiful all the same.

Because while Ben _is_ stiff, wooden as a doll in some of the shots, his smile is still crooked and awkward in a way Rook privately adores, because of the honest bashfulness it presents. The uncertainty in the gesture, as always, makes him automatically want to reach out and soothe it away with his voice or a hand. And even with the laminated touch of the photo beneath his fingers trapping the vibrant colours of Ben's body with an unnatural glossiness, the static image of those green eyes remain furnished with that sly earnestness that has always made taking the other to bed so fun. Rook marvels to see it present now, even when time and distance has no doubt taken it away.

Despite himself and his initial sneering over the photographs, Rook starts to eagerly sieve through them all. Unsurprisingly, Ben hasn't gone straight for the 'dick pics' or whatever Earth has dubbed them as, though they are still there – Rook pauses to blink at one particular close-up of Ben's cock, the engorged veins pulsing into a nest of pretty purple ribbons. All of them surface just under the skin to extend into a range of soft, mountainous lines as the shadows dip down along their sides, all thanks to the harsh angle of the bedroom light overhead, and Rook finds himself surprised at how clear the detail is. He peers at the outline of the foreskin, watching the way it crinkles into a fine lay of lines like the wrinkles of paper between the covers of the book, just below the healthy pink glans of the penis, or as Ben would bluntly label it: 'head.'

It's strange, looking at Ben's cock this way, being able to see it in absolute stillness; usually it's twitching or bobbing, jogged by the motion from Rook's fingers or tongue or the smooth roll of Ben's stomach as he moves, or as _Rook_ moves _him_ , all depending on how they want to do it that day. Funnily enough, it puts Rook in mind of those nature documentaries and the sped-up coverage they sometimes show of a flower unfurling from a bud. He laughs at himself and places the photo out as a favourite on the bed-sheets in front of him.

But like he noticed before, the 'dick pics' while they are there, are few and far between. No, Ben seems to have preferred to take shots with his face included, panning down to expose generous swathes of his chest and limbs, more of the legs or arms shown depending on the angle. This doesn't surprise Rook. He's spent years kissing and licking the areas of skin Ben is now showing with the aid of a camera, wrapping those wrists up inside his fists and bringing feet up to his chest, his shoulders, in order to nudge them with his tongue before he can push his way inside Ben. And Ben has paid attention, all of his hard work culminating in a photo of him curled up on his back, legs tactfully pressed up against his chest with the knees extended, pushed up, just enough to part and expose his face and the brown splodges of familiar nipples. It makes Rook want to be there right now, to press down on the space Ben has so coyly opened up for him and weigh him down, all with the pressure of his chest and the grip of his arms, to make that quietly confident and all-too-knowing look on that face disappear.

'Brallada,' he curses. Because Ben doesn't look wooden in this shot at _all_.

He may debate with himself later on why this is; perhaps because Ben has been purposely going for something he knows Rook would enjoy from experience and not trying to imitate the more artistic shots in his earlier poses, all of which, Rook suspects, are picked up from dodgy forum tips. But for now he spreads the photos out over his beds in a fan-like shape, a tinge of joy touching him at how hopelessly mussed Ben's hair is in each picture. Obviously ruffled by the constant posing, each stray curl and uncombed parting speaks of the way his partner has rushed into a new position for each photo, all without bothering to check himself first in a mirror. It also helps bring out the colour of his skin, flushed with both nerves and gentle exertion in an indication of his eagerness to please. And it makes Rook tingle to see it.

'Have you forgotten I am a detective, Ben?' he murmurs, unsurprised at how husky his voice has become. He still has time, twenty minutes or so, before he has to go out and play the part of not-to-be-crossed commander and though the more sensible part of him is screaming at him not to, the more lust-driven part is busy telling him to take his dick in his hand.

And he does just that. The panels falls, his armour parts and seconds later, his fist is wrapped round the long line of erect flesh, roughly pumping it with firm strokes. His eyes find one of the surprisingly photogenic faces of Ben he has painted his bed with and he grins.

'Hello,' he says, trying not to feel too foolish as he does so. 'I, ahhh, see we have much to discuss the next time we...fffh, meet...'

He's not the type to drip fond expressions into the air around him, to pontificate with endearments like 'baby' and 'honey' except as a way to get Ben to laugh. But now suddenly light-years and dimensions away from his lover, without those eyes to shimmer and glare at him and to close when he does something particularly praise-worthy with his hips, he finds himself tripping through the sentiments.

'Hello love,' he manages, slowing his fingers, spreading them out over his own set of engorged veins, all to make him last longer. 'I, _I'm,_ not there to give you what you want, but sweetie, I swear...'

Screw the contraction, he thinks, even as the rest of his mind blurs, his tongue fumbling as the heat rushes up to swell in his stomach, getting ready to burst out from the lines of flesh he touches.

'... _I'll_ make you feel this. Feel _me_. So next time, there be no camera, _ahhh_ , just me and I will make you-'

There's a knock on the door and Rook flinches, throws himself forward, stuffing his cry into his throat as his fingers launch out to catch the river of cum before it splatters against the photos beneath.

'Yes?' he manages with a breathless wheeze, heart still galloping through his chest.

'Err, I lost my Proto-Tool, sir?'

Rook rolls his eyes.

'You lost a very important piece of Plumber technology?' he asks dully. 'We have been here for less than an hour!'

'Um...'

Rook sighs. It seems he was right before. Years with Ben have served him well, taught him infinite patience. Well. Almost infinite.

'I will be with you shortly,' he says dryly, already collecting the photos with one hand and reaching for a tissue with the other.

It's a good job he's not nineteen anymore. After several close calls with Ben and him making out in space shuttles after the I-thought-I'd-almost-lost-you missions, there was always the danger of Kevin or Gwen or _somebody_ walking in on them. And though there's been several close scares, they've all served to make him become nearly immune to being embarrassed about letting off a little sexual steam close to an area where someone might discover him.

'N-no! Take your time, sir! There's no rush!'

Rook stiffens. He's nearly immune, but not quite.

'I see the doors are not quite as sound-proof as one might expect.'

'Yeah, that's unfortunate, that is. Heh.'

'Tell anyone and I will make you do two hundred push-ups before each meal for the next month,' Rook says firmly.

All that greets this declarative statement is a slight squeak. And Rook finds himself grinning. Perhaps being a boss instead of merely a partner will be quite fun, after all.

* * *

There is no phone coverage in the Null Void. And the transmissions, when they receive them through the aid of some cobbled-together technology Driba and Blukic are working on, are full of odd sounds and colours, the image of familiar faces tweaked into odd angles that thrust out into scary lengths and become of all things, starfish-shaped.

The first few times this happens, the Conductoid, Milliacent, flinches and almost shorts out their generator. It takes Rook laying a hand on her shoulder, (albeit one covered in an insulated glove) and talking her through some standard breathing exercises for her to feel at ease, long enough to prevent the lights flickering.

Agent Swift, for her part does nothing but yawn, casually bouncing a yoyo off her knuckles and onto the floor, before allowing it to spring back into her fist. Rook doesn't even want to know which storage box she has managed to whisk that out of.

'Pretend that they're your worst enemy and that they're getting tortured, literally squeezed out of shape,' she offers to Millicent, sounding completely bored as she does so. 'Imagine the sheer agony they could be going through! That's what I'd do. Cheers me right up.'

Rook glares at her and her eyes drift back down to the spinning turn of her yoyo. It seems so odd; he remembers her as stiff, ready to spring out like an arrow launched from a bow, whenever Servantis commanded it of her. He wonders now if it says something about how she's changed that she's casually performing _yoyo_ tricks in front of him. Either way, she only seems really happy when he sends her out to beat something or _someone_ up.

Still, it could be worse. He could have been put in charge of Fistina.

'Gargggh,' says the image of Max Tennyson in front of him. The colours of his skin and hair have bled round each other in a vortex like opposing swirls of paint, ones not completely mixed together.

'Perhaps,' Rook remarks dryly, 'we should send written-up briefings and reports to each other through the null-void projector and treat the dimensional rip that forms as a letter-box. It would save time and energy, since we would only have to hold the connection for a few seconds.'

There's a pause, filled only with static as Max digests this. Then: 'oookaaay,' he drawls, or at least, the transmission equipment makes him drawl. 'Thaat'ssss actuuualy a gooood idea, Rok.'

Rook nods, pleased that someone who might or not might not become his Grandfather-in-law one day, is taking him seriously.

'Over and out,' he says, suppressing a fond smile at the way Max groans to hear the overly-used Earth goodbye. They may not be soldiers or radio broadcasters, but still, Rook nurses a little fondness for the classics.

* * *

Ben, much to Rook's complete lack of surprise, rapidly takes advantage of the new system. He's no idea how he does it, or who he even has to bribe to achieve such things (though his money's on Jerry), but in every brown file that gets pushed through the tear in space and time that opens promptly at ten every three mornings, a small vanilla-coloured envelope is sure to fall out alongside the official-looking paperwork beside it. Honestly, Rook's a little impressed – he expected a hastily crinkled bunch of Sumo-Slammer sticky notes to litter the insides of every important file. Instead Ben has actually exercised a little self-restraint. Maybe he _is_ growing up.

He decides to read the first two letters he has received when he has spare time, usually in the evenings. Or well, what he presumes to pass for evenings in this place. It's not like he can just look outside at the unchanging landscape and tell.

 _Okay, first off, this isn't a love letter,_ Ben scrawls. _But I guess you know me well enough not to expect something like that._

Rook nods sagely. 'Very true,' he mutters.

 _Anyway,_ Ben continues, undeterred by an interruption he has no way of knowing about, _I've been thinking. And yeah, for your information, I know exactly what you're_ _thinking_ _as you read that, buster!_

Rook blinks at the way 'thinking' has been underlined twice, the second line scrawled at a much harsher, more slap-dash angle than the first.

 _And no, I did not 'hurt myself.'_

Rook almost chuckles at the petulant face he can imagine Ben making as he writes that line, the small pout firmly in place as it pushes his lips out in a tiny jut of motion.

 _But I think we both know that this whole long-distance thing is how it's gonna be from now on. So I_ _gotta wonder, no,_ _I gotta_ _think_ _: is this really what you want?_

Rook frowns at the sudden sombre twist this letter has taken on.

 _I love you,_ the letter says, and the words soar through his heart _. I don't say it very often, or probably enough, but I do. I never expected to find happiness with a dude and maybe, neither did you. I don't know. We're never really talked about it a lot, and I'm not saying I particularly want to, but I guess it's kinda hard. You're open buddy, most of the time, but you shut down fast when I even so much as mention Kai's name, and stuff like that makes it hard for me to ask you about, well, I guess other stuff._

Rook's fingers clench down hard against the paper.

 _I don't exactly blame you for that. If someone had popped up one day and told us that you married Rayona in the timeline or future or wherever it is that they're from, I would get uneasy whenever you brought her up in conversation too. I guess the problem is that we have to work with Kai a lot more than we used to. Magic-users have developed a real fascination for alien artefacts nowadays and Blukic and Driba like to look at some of the stuff she quite literally digs up for us. And I keep waiting for you to make that face, the blank one you get whenever she pops into our lives. It makes me uneasy. Like you're just waiting to walk away, to throw your hands and say, I'm done, you can't fight against fate._

Rook closes his eyes. Then opens them, unsurprised to see that his hands have shook, enough to tear a thin line into the letter's right side.

 _It's what Ester did. And I can't blame her for that. Looking back, I never did treat her quite right, more as a rebound for Julie. But here's the thing Rook; you're not a rebound._

Rook breathes out softly, almost shakily.

 _You're much more than that. You're incredible and you're going to keep on being incredible. You scored even higher than Gwen ever did during those Plumber exams the organisation made us do. Not that I did too badly myself, of course._

Rook rolls his eyes.

 _I know, I know. You know right? Because you read my file._

 _But the point is, is that the whole thing, this leading the Rooters thing, branching off from being Ben Ten's partner, this isn't a last stop for you. You're like Gwen, you're gonna keep going and reach even higher. And while I'll still be there, I'm not sure I can follow. I'll always be Ben Tennyson, the greatest hero ever. I'm not sure that there's anywhere for me to climb to, ya know? But the Earth is my home. I'll always be stationed here, or whatever you want to call it. So I guess...where is you want to call home, Rook? You love Revonnah, but I don't think you wanna live there. And where else is your job gonna take you? Which planet? Which system? You're more flexible than me. You deserve to be. And no, this isn't a break-up. This is just me trying to be responsible, for once. And I gotta tell you, it's not fun. No wonder I run away from it all the time._

 _Don't force yourself to reply, okay? Who knows? Maybe the next letter I'll send you, I'll have changed my mind or something. We can travel anywhere, yeah? I belong on Earth but I can always try to broaden my horizons? Anyway, I'm gonna seal this away inside an envelope before I change my mind._

Rook lowers the paper from his face. _Is this really not a love letter?_ he muses to himself. _Because it sure reads like one, Ben._

Then anxiously, almost clumsily, he drops this letter to the floor and reaches for the second one with an uncharacteristic fumble. His guts have fallen all the way to the floor, it feels like, wiggling somewhere along his toes and he curses, feeling the pins and needles race up his thigh as he shifts. The human expression is quite apt and one he privately agrees with - on his planet it is called 'the piercing shot', poetic and inspiring in the agony the connotation alludes to. But the human expression is plural and its description of household objects jabbing at an awakening muscle seem far more in tune with how mundane and every day the sensation usually turns out to be.

He grimaces and reaches out for the next envelope, savagely tearing the flap free. The piece of paper inside falls into his hand and he rather brusquely opens it.

 _Hey there,_ it starts. _Sorry I didn't include any risqué photos with the last letter. Or this one either. But I figured that would be a lame move, like I was trying to distract you from what I was saying. And I don't want to be the bad guy here. I want to be your guy. Okay,_ _ye-ouch,_ _guess that last line was kinda lame too, huh? But it would probably be even lamer to cross it out, so here it'll stay, I guess._

 _I...okay, I want you to reply to this. I need you too. Because this is it, for me. This is as unselfish as I know how to be. And if you have a problem with me being stuck near Earth, while you're out doing your thing, we need to do something about it._

 _I'm sorry that I find it easier to write to you about this stuff than talking about it. But usually I can talk about it. And that's what makes this difficult._

 _I don't suddenly want to run off and have a one-night stand with Kai. And I'm sorry, because I know you don't wanna hear this, but the way you act closed off when she's around, when she's talked about, I need to write it down, make you see it, 'cos I know you'll never talk about it. You've picked up too many of my bad habits._

 _And the answer is yes, okay? Yes, I'm attracted to her. I wish I could say no, that's there's no chemistry between us, that nothing could ever happen. But we have kissed before, a few times when we were teenagers and yeah there was something there. And even now, when we're in the same space I feel it, like she's a magnet and she's yanking at me like a text alert or something. And well, you've been there. It doesn't exactly do wonders for my conversational skills with her._

 _I dunno if it is fate like Spanner said. Though where is that little guy anyway? Haven't seen him for years. Anyway, just because Kevin told us we should lock the two of us together in a room and 'bonk it out' doesn't mean I'm gonna do it. I just don't want you to pull an Ester. Because Rook, if you do ever break up with me, if you decide that's what you need to do, please, please, don't let it be because you've decided I should marry a woman I don't even know that well, simply because you think I would be better off with another human. Because we both know, don't we? That it's the kind of thing you'd do._

Rook hisses out a breath between his teeth.

 _So yeah. Feel free to write back this time. Tell me about all the kinky grossness you got up to with Rayona way back in the day. Or something._

Rook sighs. There's no 'I love yous' in this letter. But he finds himself not caring. Not when Ben's pain is tearing at him through every single sentence.

* * *

When it's time for his team to send back a report, he writes a short crisp note and reseals it within one of the envelopes Ben gave him, the torn flap artfully pressed down with one long swipe of his tongue. Revonnahgander saliva; it's better than glue. Well, against paper, anyway.

He folds his arms and taps his foot, watching impatiently as the file is ripped away into the ether. It disappears, the swarm of red and purple vanishing along with it and he turns. Only to pause seven seconds later, to swing round mid-step as the portal suddenly crashes back into existence with a bright whirl of sound.

And Ben springs out of it, half-falling to the floor as Rook's letter tumbles out of his hand. The Citrakayah, Snzoome, zips forward to catch it before it can so much as scrape against the floor and his eyes widen as he mouths the note over to himself. Ben meanwhile, stumbles upright like he's drunk, Rook's arms already reaching out to guide him into his chest before they can crash into each other.

'You-' the human sputters, outraged.

'You started it,' says Rook faintly, his hands squeezing Ben's back with all the strength they can muster.

Ben chokes, this time for real, so Rook loosens his grip. But just a little. Ben's grown hardy enough to take it, after all.

'I was being nice!' Ben wailed, 'I was giving you an out!'

'Ah,' says Rook softly. 'But I am also nice, Ben.'

'Cheap as hell though,' Snzoome snorts. 'Hey everybody, listen to this!' he calls out. _'Dear Ben, I have also been thinking. But unlike your experience with the activity, I must confess that the process has not been pain-free. It is with a few misgivings, some no doubt outlined in your thoughtfully written letters, that I must ask you to marry me. However, do not expect me to buy you a ring. You would probably only lose it.'_

Agent Swift starts choking on the onion ring she is currently eating. And Ben buries his head against Rook's neck, almost head-butting him in the throat as he lets out a muffled cry of frustration.

'I can't get proposed to! I'm the superhero!'

Rook runs a few fingers through the hair beneath his chin, pleased to note that Ben's hands are grasping at his armour, trying to fist themselves in the material. Too bad that it has such little give in response.

'But I love the superhero,' he tells his human, his voice dipping into a crooning growl. 'How else am I supposed to keep him when he's trying to cast me free? Like that popular song years back said, 'if you like it, put a ring on i–'

'Yeah, a ring that you won't even buy!' Ben cuts in with a growl of his own, tilting his head up, just enough for Rook to see his glare.

Rook smiles. 'I already have an alternate picked out,' he murmurs. 'You see there is tradition on Revonnah, where you take an Amber Ogia and...'

* * *

The whole thing is a bit of a mess really. Ben starts laughing when Rook explains the tradition in full and Rook marvels at the thought that less than a month ago, he would have sneered at such a thing, been mortified in fact, at the very idea of explaining such a hushed up secret in a public venue for his entire team to hear.

'Aw,' says Ben, an impish twinkle in his eye as he strokes Rook's cheek fondly. 'You risked great embarrassment to set my mind at ease. Or were you just worried that I would think you were a cheapskate?'

Rook frowns, resisting the temptation to close his eyes as Ben angles his thumb across the broad black stripe that connects to his eye. 'Why are you talking about a single skate? I can see why it would be cheap if not purchased in the usual format of a pair, but I fail to see how it applies to the situation at present.'

'Urgh,' says Ben, 'no, it's just an-' he hesitates, his thumb halting in it's downwards stroke as Rook, very clearly, winks at him. 'Damn it!'

'Indeed,' says Rook loftily, placing his hands on Ben's hips, so he can attempt to swivel him backwards through the nearest doorway. 'You are all dismissed!' he calls over his shoulder, as Ben laughs and obliges the press of his palms, taking a step back for each one Rook takes forward.

'Yeah,' he says cheerfully, 'don't want any witnesses right? Not when there's no bride to carry over the threshold.'

Rook raises a brow, a devilish glint in his other narrowed eye, before Ben realises his mistake.

'No, no, I take it back, I-ah!'

It is much, much too late, for even through Ben tries to rush away, Rook's hands have already switched from their respective positions on those human hips to that smaller spine that curves away from his touch frantically. And then Rook pushes out with a light chop to Ben's side, one just hard enough to fell him, and swiftly crouches so that he can grab the undersides of those knees, already bending in their attempt to either run or kick. Though honestly, Rook wouldn't put it past Ben to try both.

And so it is with a loud shout that Ben Tennyson, greatest hero in the universe, is hoisted up into his fiancé's arms and carried out into the corridor.

* * *

Rook manages to make it to his room without any broken bones. Not that he expects any. Ben looks annoyed, but he doesn't look angry. If he was, he would have tried changing into something too heavy for Rook to carry. Besides, Ben in his human shape is a force to contend with in his own right. He's not a martial artist, and would scoff at the idea of calling himself a precision athlete, but he does take his training more seriously than he used to, and he knows enough moves to make Rook work for any kind of victory, even if he's limited to his original body.

...though it doesn't mean Rook still couldn't win, of course.

'I've changed my mind,' Ben mutters, as the motion sensors register their presence and yank the door open to let them in. 'I don't want to marry you anymore.'

'Aw,' says Rook teasingly, 'that is indeed a shame. Good job I have not allowed some Revonnahgandian craftsman to carve my naked likeness onto a piece of fruit, yet.'

Ben scowls and thumps the side of Rook's chest. 'Let me down, Blonko,' he says icily, but despite the threat in his voice, Rook chooses to hold onto him a little longer, savouring the warmth and the clear, lemony scent of his aftershave before he drops him onto the bed.

Ben stares up at him, outraged, but Rook smiles back softly, amused to see the wrinkles brushing outwards from his hair and limbs on the sheets below, much like ripples on a pond. Or, if he wants to gets theistic, like an extra set of halos.

' _Yeeah_. I'm not having sex with you.'

'A pity,' Rook concedes. 'But not a huge loss in the long run. For you will be my husband soon enough and there will be plenty of opportunities for sex then.'

Ben rolls his eyes . 'It's a little late to worry about making an honest man out of me.'

'Oh?' Rook bends down, his hands stretching to take up the space beside Ben's head and he can't help but smile, wide and open as his nose and the fur surrounding it drift down to tease the end of Ben's own. 'But I have already received plenty of honesty from you over the course of the last few days. And all I had to do was travel to the Null Void to find it.'

Ben wrinkles his nose, but doesn't turn his head away or glance nervously off to the side the way he would have done when he was a teenager. 'It had to be done,' he says, his eyes boring straight into Rook's bravely. 'You being away...well, it made me think about our relationship more clearly. And it gave me a better chance to, you know, think and worry about the stuff we don't talk about when we're together.'

Rook rather sourly realises that Ben isn't kidding about the whole 'not having sex' part. So he goes straight for the metaphorical jugular.

'I do not like talking about Kai,' he says with an audible bite in his voice. 'But you were quite right to address my concerns about her in your letter; I have at times worried over whether you would decide to act on your attraction to her. I did not think you would cheat-' he adds firmly, on seeing Ben's mouth drop open in indignation. 'But you could have chosen to put us on a 'break,' or attempted to 'open up' our relationship in order to explore the option of being with her. And it is true that I have sometimes feared that the doubt might eat away at you if you did not. It can be a hard thing, to know the possibility of a future, for then you are torn in two opposing directions; to fall in line or to pull away.'

'I dunno,' Ben mutters, 'sounds to me as if you were the one that let 'doubt eat away at you.'' But the harshness of his words and the sourness they ring with are betrayed, brushed away by his hands coming up to nestle at the fine hairs under Rook's chin. Rook allows this manipulation, closing his eyes to more thoroughly enjoy the scrap of Ben's thumbnails as they scratch lightly on the scruffier fur that makes up his beard.

'Mmm...yees,' he agrees with a sigh. Then he opens his eyes, the world at a slanted angle as his eyelids remain stubbornly heavy. 'Perhaps you should stop this if you wish to remain a virgin before your wedding night,' he murmurs, his voice dipping down into a low and heavy thrall and he feels Ben's fingers tremble at the shudder runs through them in response. And he smiles at the thrum of the vibrations they run into his fur beneath, all the way to his skin, because yes, it _is_ nice to know his partner isn't quite as unaffected as he pretends.

'That ship has long since sailed,' Ben replies, but he draws his fingers away all the same. 'And so has the one bearing the name 'Kai Tennyson.'' Then he frowns. 'Hey, wait a minute. When we get married, how are we gonna sort out our surnames? Your dad will throw a fit if you go around calling yourself Blonko Tennyson, or, I guess, Tennyson Blonko. And, urgh, calling me Ben Rook is gonna sound all sorts of weird, given the name of your brother.'

'That is why hyphenated names exist,' Rook says smoothly, cringing a little at the reminder that yes, his little brother shares a name with his lover. And maybe more, if things work out. He sighs and shifts himself further down onto the bed, slotting his legs firmly between Ben's as he spreads his weight against the frame of Ben's chest. Because he's missed this, carving out a space for himself on the body beneath him. And while it's a tad possessive of him and not something he'll ever discuss in polite company, nobody else is ever going to be allowed to perch their chin on Ben's chest the way he is, and feel that all-important breath and the rush of blood below. It floods his ears, and the sound, that quick flush of a human pulse, is his and his alone.

'Message received,' Ben says dryly. 'We'll argue about it later. After I get a turn to have you as my pillow.'

'Do not count on it,' mutters Rook. 'I am engraving myself onto your skin; you may have your chest back after a century or two.'

Ben laughs and Rook hears his pulse skip into a speed that's hard to follow, the skin beneath his chin shaking and making the heartbeat underneath scatter. 'If my sixteen year old self could hear you using a hyperbole, he'd have a fit.'

'Let us ask Paradox to take us to him, _you_ , next time,' Rook says, 'we can shock him together. Maybe I will buy you a ring after all. And you can get me one. That way we can give him a proper 'freak-out.''

'You okay, buddy?' Ben asks softly, hand lifting up so he can card his fingers through Rook's hair. 'You're not being very sensible today. In fact, you've been incredibly impulsive. Maybe I'm finally rubbing off on you.'

You have been doing that for a long time, Rook thinks. But instead, very gently, he lets out a soft hum. 'I am getting married,' he says finally. 'I have asked you and you have said yes. Not properly, of course, but you have given no indication of an outright refusal. And I have also missed you, very much, and photographs verging on the edge of outright pornography are no substitute. I am allowed to act as though I am 'high.' The endorphins have seen to that.'

Ben giggles. He's a fully grown man, Rook thinks fondly, and he still giggles. 'Damn, we suck at the long-distance thing.'

'Of course,' Rook says smoothly. 'That tends to happen, when you are very much in love with somebody else.' Then he leans up onto to his arms, bracing his elbows across the sheets to reach out and clutch Ben's chin in his hand. 'Stay on Earth, whenever you need to, forever or not,' he says, suddenly serious. 'And I will do my duties as the Plumber I am, wherever they may lead me. But trust this: I will come back to you. Just as I know you will come back to me.' He smiles, gentling his grip. 'And in the meantime, when we cannot, we will have photos and hopefully with time, a hollowed out Amber Ogia fruit. Not to mention the marriage certificate.'

'Wow,' Ben murmurs. 'If I'd known it was this easy to get you to act like you're on drugs, I would have proposed years ago.'

'And I am sure the ring you would have picked out for the occasion would have been a cheap and tawdry thing,' says Rook loftily, abruptly releasing Ben's chin as the human swats at him bad-temperedly. 'No, I feel as though it is much better this way. There is no risk of a cultural misunderstanding, for one thing.'

Ben rolls his eyes again. 'Oh no,' he says, 'nu-uh, I'm not buying it. You've been on Earth too long for me to believe you would take offense to me getting down on one knee and giving you a ring. I know you've watched more than enough movies to know what it means. I've gotten wise to your wily ways, Mr Rook Blonko.'

'Well, if all goes well, it might be Mr Tennyson-Rook Blonko,' Rook murmurs, becoming gently enchanted with a brushed up curl along Ben's hairline. His finger moves up to glide along its whorled length before he frowns. 'Or it could be Mr Rook-Tennyson Blonko. We could go with either option.'

Ben stares at him a moment in silence. And Rook fears he might have done something wrong, starts to gear himself up to apologise for whatever human emotional cue he's missed – even after all this time and much to his frustration, he's still tripped up by the odd little comment here and there – except, rather gently, Ben says, 'You really don't mind? You'd be willing to put my family name before your own?'

Rook blinks. 'If it sounds more pleasing to the ear, then of course.'

He doesn't think there's anything remarkable about what he's said, but Ben gives a little watery gasp at this and suddenly lunges up to squeeze his arms round his neck. Rook freezes.

'Okay,' Ben murmurs, the word coming out in a short thrill of sound, made slightly husky to Rook's perception by the way Ben's breath dapples his ear. 'Now we can have sex.'

Rook lets out a long-suffering sigh. 'Thank you,' he says as graciously as he can manage and then promptly pushes Ben back down onto the bed.

* * *

It doesn't go smoothly. Taking off their clothes comes easily enough, though Ben demands to be let up so that he can handle it himself, rather than have Rook yank it off his skin and risk tearing anything.

'You still owe me a shirt from that time on Landos,' he informs Rook snootily, hopping on one foot as he peels off a sock.

Rook watches him, idly noting that despite how unsexy Ben looks right now, with his cock bouncing against the thrust of his upraised thigh, it does nothing to prevent the feeling of sheer want from erupting in his veins. If anything, it just makes the fondness rush through him all the more, and for Rook that kind of affection always goes hand in hand with the physical.

'I will buy you anything you wish, as soon as you replace that radio part you broke during our last mission together.'

Ben screws up his face. 'That was different! The stuff I break on missions is reimbursed by the Plumbers, you know that! I'm talking about my own personal property here!'

Rook rolls his eyes, carefully laying out his armour onto the desk nearby. Lucky for him that that item of clothing is far too durable for Ben to wreck.

'I do not remember you complaining about that shirt when I first ripped it. As far as I recall, you have a dozen spares.'

'It's the principle, ' Ben sulks, now thoroughly naked as Rook takes him by the hand to led him to the bed. And that is, of course, where they run into the second problem. For as Rook attempts to push him down, to smother him with his weight again, Ben frowns and wears the face Rook hates, the one that means Ben's not finished with his customary protests.

'No,' Ben whines. 'Today's special. You asked me to marry you. And I said yes. That means you have to do as I say.'

Rook stares down at him blankly. 'In no Earth reference, movie or otherwise, have I ever heard of some arbitrary rule where the one being proposed to wields some unseen power over the other. Especially not after they have answered the proposal in the affirmative.'

Ben makes a face. 'But I was in the mood for intercrural sex! You make these really cute faces when I've got your dick trapped between my thighs.'

'Six years,' Rook says dryly, fastening his hands more firmly into Ben's hips. 'And you have not learnt that the quickest way to get me out of the mood is to refer to the faces I make in the throngs of orgasm as 'cute.'

'Liar,' Ben mutters. Quick as a flash, he slips his fingers from Rook's neck so that they can slide down over the hands holding his hips, his fingers nails forcing blunt grooves into the fur. They're not sharp enough to draw blood, or even to hurt that much, not with the pressure of blue fur bustling under their tips, but the intent behind the action is enough for Rook to growl slightly, and for his fingers to unflex. It's enough for the grey spikes of his claws to shine through, to make their own imprints into the human skin beneath.

'See?' Ben says, his voice a low murmur of encouragement. 'You're still in the mood. That's just how awesome I am. We're always awesome for each other.'

Rook shivers. It's easy to forget sometimes that Ben is more than a being with delicate, easily-clawed skin and strength that doesn't quite compare to his own. Not yet. Although, to be fair, not many humans can match him hand-to-hand unless they've trained excessively like Fistrick.

Ben laughs and tilts his head to the side. 'C'mon. My way first, yeah? Then I'll let you do whatever you want.'

Rook keeps his claws pressed in – but lightly, not enough to strangle the capillaries underneath and make them come anywhere close to flooding the skin above with red.

'It is a fair deal,' he says, carefully trying to keep the frustration out of his tone. 'But I warn you; it will only make me more demanding afterwards.'

Ben reaches up to pat him on the side of the face. 'I know you want to be inside me,' he says, the playfulness abruptly dropping out of his voice. 'But I deserve to have you at my mercy too, from time to time, yeah?'

Well. Rook can't really argue with that. Not when Ben's using actual logic.

'Alright.' He leans up, removes his claws, and then pauses to lick the faint pink scrapes they leave behind. But Ben is already rolling his eyes, shoving his head away with his hand as he pushes himself up, encouraging Rook's back to slide down onto the mattress instead.

'Your tongue is not a magic heal-all,' he informs him tartly, and then presses his knees into the broad lanes of Rook's chest, lightly balancing himself back on his hands as his fingers rake through the fur on Rook's sturdy thighs.

Rook chooses not to mind, admiring the glistening streaks he has painted against the curl of Ben's hip before his attention abruptly shifts to Ben's hand and the way it fastens round a very interested part of his anatomy.

'Hey there,' Ben tells it cheerfully, taking to it as though it were one of his Sumo-Slammer actions figures – and great Amber Ogia, that's an unappealing thought - before a shudder runs through the whole of Rook's frame. For Ben's thighs have bunched together, just enough to glide their slim weight along either side of his dick. It's different from having a woman do it, though it's been a while since he's had the chance to compare, so he can't say for certain; but their thighs tend to be curvier, more weight added to their shape. And though there's certainly weight here, weight Rook can feel in the muscles that cup round the lean line of his erect flesh, there's still enough room for his hands to curl round the point at which those legs drift out from those hips. And he starts to reach out to do just that, until Ben takes his hand away from his dick, leaving the guidance all to his thighs.

Rook moans as Ben leans forward, enough to have the tip of that human dick brush against his own. It sends a jolt through him, and Ben's hands slam into his outstretched ones in order to wrestle them down into the sheets.

'Uh-uh,' Ben gasps. 'This is my show. Keep your hands to yourself, mister.'

Ben is going to kill him. It's not the first time he's had this thought and it will no doubt repeat itself through his head during all the years to come. But Rook forces the growl away from his throat. And lets Ben push down.

Ben sighs and shifts his hand back to Rook's legs, starting up a undulating motion with his entire body. He pushes himself forward, so that both dicks come into contact with each other, to weep softly into each other's tip, before they break away with a cruel twist of Ben's hips. But oh, they're quickly reunited, the agony of separation dimmed only by the repetitive slide of flesh against his own, Ben's thighs a steady presence in the background and wedging themselves carefully into the sides of his straining dick. They squeeze lightly each time, reminding Rook fondly of the tight heat he plans to bury himself in later and he moans, enjoying the sight of Ben pulling back and seeing the taunt concentration on that face, before it shivers open into a gasp.

And so Rook loses himself in the push and pull, of the slide of dick-on-dick melting into a roomy thigh embrace. It's weird how the shifting between these two contrasts can match up to what he's feeling. A sharp shot of pleasure, before it's nursed into something that's less insistent but no less intense, brushing against the jump in his pulse with all the briefness of a falling leaf.

'I love you,' he gasps out, not stopping to realise that he's probably making one of those 'cute' faces Ben is so fond of.

But all Ben does is stare down at him, something sharp in his green eyes, even if the rest of his face softens in abject fondness.

'You'd better,' he replies. But then he stutters, his eyes half-lidding as he thrusts back and closes his thighs together just a little tighter, abruptly bouncing himself up and down in small, barely-raised bounces that cause Rook's dick to paint his skin with wetness. Rook can't see it, but if he could, he'd be proud of the way that pink colour is being washed over with white. It spills out of him, staining those thighs that he'll be all too eager to part minutes later, but right now, riding the high of his pleasure, he wishes they would never move, never leave him and let him have to deal with the cold.

But then it's over, the high dies and Ben sighs, abruptly letting his legs fall away. And Rook blinks, wonders sleepily whether this sudden rush of thigh-fucking was Ben taking pity on him, rewarding him for the confession he pressed out into the air so desperately before. Ben's no romantic, but he always responds favourably to affection.

He blinks again before closing his eyes more firmly, letting the breaths roll out of him, chasing away the emptiness that always follows an orgasm. He's not a teenager, and so not quite as quick to respond as he used to be, but still, just the thought of what he wants to do to Ben, and the way the corresponding pants of his partner will stain the air, are enough to make him feel his dick stir between his legs, anxious to reunite with the pleasure it felt moments before.

His eyes fly open. Because those pants, those small, shuffling sighs, aren't locked into an imaginary future. Oh no, they exist, in the here and now, Ben shoving them out with a gentle gust of breath as he looks down into Rook's face, and strokes his dick. And the sight of him, that soft, open look of slack-jawed wonder on his face, is enough for Rook to soar upwards, to knock Ben back, to clench that traitorous hand by the wrist and squeeze.

Ben gives a laugh, not at all embarrassed and lets his fingers fall open.

'What?' he asks with a smirk that tells Rook that he very much knows 'what.' 'You looked like you could do with the time-out.'

'It is you who will need the time-out when I am done with you,' he threatens, pushing Ben off him completely and rolling him down with a clumsy thump of noise. Not one of his more coordinated movements, but at this stage Rook's favouring gratification over grace.

'And here I thought you loved me,' Ben says softly, the taunt not quite ringing true in his voice. 'Is that any way to speak to your fiancé?'

'Yes,' Rook informs him, using his weight to hold him down as he pushes Ben's cum-stained thighs up to either side of him. 'It is, when I intend to make him say it back.'

His hands leave the thighs, having successfully managed to loop Ben's knees over his shoulders, and seek their way down to Ben's wrists, smoothly sliding over the skin to feel their way along the strong lines of the bone beneath. He eyes never leave Ben's face, the human looking more amused than anything else as Rook's finds his hands by sensation alone and wraps them together like a present, before pressing them above his head into the pillow.

'You know this would be easier if you got out those Plumber-issued handcuffs, right?' Ben tells him, his mouth twitching slightly. 'I know you have them around here somewhere.'

Rook presses his face to Ben's briefly. 'It is more satisfying to hold you down with my own strength,' he says bluntly, relishing in the way he feels Ben swallow beneath him. And then he smiles, long and slow.

'Damn,' Ben puffs out, into the mouth centimetres away from his own. 'You know everybody thinks you're so vanilla. Kevin would never believe me if I told him the truth-' He's cut off as Rook leans down, just enough for their mouths to brush, to open to each other's heat, and allow their teeth, their tongues to mesh quietly. Ben hums, a little rebellion that makes Rook shiver a little and draw back after one last quick, tactical sweep of his tongue.

'I am not an ice-cream flavour,' he tells Ben mock-sternly. To which Ben gives him an unimpressed look.

'Yeah, I'm not falling for that again. You know exactly what I mean.'

'Hmm.' Rook leans down again to nip at Ben's neck. 'Yes,' he says as Ben's breath hitches, the pulse-point flushing out brightly against his neck, 'I believe I do.'

But it's a little gratifying to know that Ben's willing to play along, to put himself in hands that could easily erupt into claws that could shred their way across his skin at any moment. Truthfully, Rook's not sure if he would be so compliant if the situations had been reserved, if they had been born into each other's species.

'It is very reckless of you to trust someone so...un-vanilla,' he says carefully. 'Anything could happen to you.'

Ben's response is to nudge Rook's cheek with one of the knees still stuck over his shoulders. 'Yeah,' he says flippantly, 'awesome things! C'mon, I'm not made of clay. I'm gonna get pins and needles if you take too long.'

Rook gives up. Ben is always immune to the whole 'our species are not the same' talk, it hasn't worked in years. And really, it has not been a problem since he stopped freaking out over the whole 'teeth and claws' when they were just starting out. And while it's a little frustrating when Ben lays out the whole 'no biting' rule he rather sternly invokes before public ceremonies or a big media promotion, it's never really put a dent in their relationship.

Maybe, Rook realises, it's time he put the worry to bed. So to speak. But first...

Ben leans his head to one side, chuckling as he feels one of Rook's hands leave his own, dipping down to press into his mouth. He slathers the digits obligingly, his tongue wreaking slimy havoc against the fur as his gaze meets Rook's, a familiar challenge rising in them.

Rook ignores this, pulling them away to let them begin their familiar climb through the air to where they always descend. He takes up the usual fingering and stretching while Ben sighs and winces at the occasional discomfort. And then he pulls his hand away, slathering it with licks from his own rough tongue before it descends again, this time to his own dick, now hard and still stained with the glistening trail of Ben's pre-cum from before. He's careful with the application, liberal in how he lavishes his own spit against its tip, feeling it strain under his touch as Ben watches him curiously. And then frowns.

'Hey, where's the lube?'

Rook's not sure what look he gives Ben, but it must be an unimpressed one, because Ben's eyes are suddenly widening and he starts saying, 'aw man, c'mon on Rook, that's gonna hurt-'

'Have you forgotten our safe word?' Rook interrupts him and Ben's eyes widen even further at the implication.

'Oh,' he says, 'no, of course not. But damn, you choose your moments, buddy.'

'And I choose you,' Rook says smoothly, 'again and again, just as I choose to do this.' He slathers his palm with another coarse lick and then wraps it round his dick.

Ben eyes him, a little apprehension in his face. 'Did I really piss you off that badly?'

Rook gentles his expression immediately. 'No, Ben, this is not punishment. Never when we are like this.' He hesitates. 'This is about me,' he says finally, 'being desperate, being as you would say 'horny' and wanting you badly enough to be a little rough with you. I am fully prepared to take the appropriate measures of aftercare afterwards.'

Ben seems to soften under this. The apprehension is not gone, not entirely, but he looks at Rook with that same look he gets when Rook tells he wants to try something new and not by the book.

'Hell,' he breathes, 'you're stuck it in enough times for me to have built up a tolerance for it. Fine, we'll try it but if my ass hurts too much tomorrow, it's on yours that I'm taking it out on.'

Rook's not sure if he means it literally. No, more likely he means it as in the 'I'd whine until you make it up to me' way, he always employs. But no matter the truth, Rook can live with it.

And so with a breath and a slight prayer he starts to push himself – gently, despite the rush of desire in his veins. It seems that despite his words, and even at his worse, he is unable to be forceful in it's initial movements.

He feels a little relief when Ben immediately whines and presses a free hand to his face.

'Okay?' he asks, resisting the urge to smother the other's face in licks, because as much as it feels dishonourable to admit to, he takes a strange sort of pleasure in the way Ben doesn't feel quite as slick as he usually does, a little rougher and dryer, the ridges of his insides bunching round his dick in a way that's quite snug.

Ben nods and carefully Rook presses in further, crawling up like a child before finally, he is sheathed to the tip. And then he waits.

Until Ben lets out a little laugh. 'Yeah,' he teases, his voice shaking a little under the strain. 'You're being totally rough with me.'

'Always...pushing,' Rook breathes out and then, at the nod from Ben, slides back quickly. And then shoves in, fast.

Ben jolts so quickly that Rook fears he's broken something. But all Ben does is look at him, a little wild, and demand, 'do that again.'

Rook does. Then draws out. And Ben's eyes flicker, between him and the ceiling as he quickens his pace, as he slams himself down as hard as he can imagine, pushing as though Ben could actually break beneath each shake of breath. But Ben keeps breathing, one of his arms freeing itself from the slightly shaky hold Rook has now on both his wrists to pins itself round Rook's neck.

'Faster,' he mutters, that spoilt whine breaking in full. 'C'mon, _c'mon_ Blonko, gonna make me love you, _gah_! Or not?'

Brallada. He never gets tired of it, this pale skin, this human sweat, the way it soaks against his fur with a wet slap of sound every time they bend down to meet. Ben is murmuring, crooning, his eyes closed in concentration as Rook streaks forward, arches away and grounds down hard.

Ben's mouth falls open, a low sound coming out of it. And Rook picks up the pace.

The sound becomes a whine, becomes a scream. And then Ben is chanting, trying to wrestle and wriggle his way closer, even as Rook's hands find both his wrists again and drive them down, keeping him pinned like a captured butterfly beneath a nail.

'God, Blonko, you're crucifying me, you're, your're, you've got me, have me, whenever, wherever, _please_ , love you, love, love you...'

The words blossom on his tongue, loosen, almost lost under the slapping sound and Rook nips under Ben's chin.

'Yes, hurt me, so good, no one else...'

Rook growls, find himself lost in that white haze of pleasure that always overtakes before he finds his release and, mindful of his partner, draws himself out before his cock spurts everywhere. Ben lets out a wet little gasp and cums himself, perhaps toppled over the edge by Rook's uncharacteristic selfishness.

Enjoy it, Rook thinks. For he's not sure, if it'll ever happen again, if at all, then not quite like this. Maybe in the morning he'll be mortified at himself. He can be selfish, but never has he prioritised himself quite like this before. Maybe it's the thought that Ben agreed to be his in one of those arbitrary ceremonies that are designed to matter. Or maybe it's because he has grown up watching his mother and father, always together, expecting _that_ for himself one day, and now finally has this certainty that it's going to happen, that Ben has been observant enough to pick on that slight worry that always made him flinch whenever Kai was in the room.

'We are not having a wedding cake with a Mr Smoothie figurehead decoration,' he says breathlessly. And then pauses, wondering why that thought has slipped its way onto his tongue.

But Ben just looks at him and starts to laugh.

* * *

The next morning is chaos. Rook is running everywhere, fending off knowing looks and invasive chuckles and waiting desperately for the portal to open so that he can field Jerry a few sticky notes on the completed paperwork about delivering a whole bus-load of smoothies through the transdimensional rip.

'You're in trouble,' Agent Swift tell him declaratively. She's chewing on a banana as she does so, her cheeks puffed out like a hamster. Rook stares at her and, unsure of how to respond, simply chooses to nod.

'Hmm,' she says, 'always had him pegged for a masochist and those screams yesterday just confirmed it. And now you too, of course. But then I figured the two of you would have to be, to put up with the trouble that watch drags him into.' She grins, lumps of banana still stuck between her teeth, and walks away, leaving Rook to stare after her. Because, _what?_

'Blooonkooo...' the voice is low and strained, and carries the promise of a threat within it. And so Rook grimaces and goes back to praying for the portal to open.

* * *

 **Notes:** Rook's still pretty vanilla, no matter what Ben may say. Probably.

Originally the description for this fic was going to be 'Long-distance relationships are hard. Especially when they inevitably end in marriage.' But that felt a bit too obvious and 'spoilery', even if I did enjoy the short and concise nature of it.

But, yikes, this was a challenge. Because these characters will have grown at the time I've set this, evolved in ways I probably can't foresee coming. Not that we'll ever really know, given the reboot to the franchise that's coming. Or maybe I'll be proven wrong?

Either way, one of the things I liked about Omniverse was that it gave Ben 10,000 similar characteristics to the Ben of the present time. He may be more mature and speak a little more eloquently at times, but he's still a dork about smoothies and a little silly about his battle quips. And according to future Rook's remarks, he's still as bad at time management as ever. And all these serve to make him a little more relatable than the way he was depicted in prior seasons, especially with the whole Ultimate-human Superman-clone thing he had going on in Ultimate Alien.

Either way, what really inspired this was the episode prior to the last one in Omniverse, where we see what the characters are like when they're in their early forties. And yeah, Rook was the former boss of the Rooters there, so obviously he and Ben's careers have diverged at some point or another, though I suspect in canon that it happens a lot later than it does here. But if I stuck to the idea, they'ld be in their thirties? And if they did end up married, I can't imagine they'd wait until then, unless there were some weird circumstances afoot.

Ironically enough, I guess that means that Ben has finally got his wish to work mostly alone, the way he wanted to at the beginning of Omniverse. Although, he does seem to pair up with Kai when she's available. But then, she is an archaeologist, so she's probably off traveling the world most days, or possibly other planets, so it's still reasonable to assume that Ben doesn't have a proper work-partner anymore at this stage of his life.

At any rate, Rook and Ben are in their...I guess twenties here? So Ben hasn't become Ben 10,000 yet, not by a long stretch. Which gives me a little leg-room. He doesn't have to be as self-assured or put-together as Ben 10,000 is, at least in comparison to teenage Ben, but he also has to be a little more mature than the Ben we see in series. Because, well, he's not a teenager any more.

Also regarding the whole 'Rook's stronger that most humans' bits. I'm not sure how canon that is. Revonnahganders don't seem to be supernaturally strong the way other species are and given some of the feats of strength Fistrick was able to pull off, it's a little difficult to gauge what should or should not be 'humanly' possible in their universe. Honestly for the longest time, I thought the proto-tool was to blame. I figured it had some sort of feature that negated some of the weight/strength necessary for certain tasks like when he used to swing Charmcaster's rock monsters into each other and do other stuff that would usually require an inhuman amount of strength to do. But then he managed to take on Manny hand-to-hand and considering Manny's impressive strength, that's not something a regular human could do. So I dunno. It's only after I've seen other people say that Rook is supernaturally strong, at least in comparison to your-run-of-the-mill person, that I was like, yeah, okay, maybe you're right. Maaaaybe.

But I don't know for sure.

And yeeeah...this is one of the occasions when my persistent desire to alternate between the two forms comes back to bite me in the arse, especially given the fact that they were never really meant to lead on from each other. But if you stick to one tense when writing it's very easy, frightening easy in fact, to grow lazy and accustomed to the way certain verbs jump into certain re-arrangements or patterns and it becomes very hard to retrain your brain to think in a different tense when writing. Or so I've found.


End file.
